


Pray Tell

by Azzandra



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bottom Sylvain Jose Gautier, F/M, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:35:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22531834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azzandra/pseuds/Azzandra
Summary: Sylvain will try anything at least once. Mercedes obliges.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Mercedes von Martritz
Comments: 20
Kudos: 173





	Pray Tell

It could have been any hour between dusk and dawn, but the lamp in the corner kept the room somewhere between an even yellow glow and soft-edged shadows.

It did Mercedes a lot of favors, Sylvain decided. He watched from the bed as she moved around the room with intent, though prone with distractions along the way: she picked up a shawl from the floor and folded it neatly before placing it on the chair, she adjusted the position an item on the desk. Sylvain felt a twinge of amusement at that. He didn't think that was part of her grand strategy to build anticipation, so much as her scattered attention.

Still, he found that a tension was coiling tight inside him as he watched Mercedes take out a box from her closet. He didn't quite crane his neck to see, but his mouth went dry as Mercedes approached the bed with the wooden box in her hands. 

"Have you ever done this before?" Sylvain asked, even though thinking back on their conversation about this, obviously she must have. He didn't think most women just had a cock harness in their closets to pop out unless they were experienced with it. He swallowed dryly.

Mercedes looked at him with a playful smile as she produced her strap and the attached toy from the box.

"Have you?" she asked, as she began putting on the strap.

"Hey, what, am I going to need to provide references now?" he laughed nervously.

"I'm sure you'll do fine," she said.

Sylvain found words failing him in the face of her gentle confidence, and since meeting her gaze was beginning to feel difficult with the heat rising to his face, he focused intently on the way she slipped on the current object of interest. 

He didn't have to feign his fascination, at least. There was something decidedly hot about the slight wiggle to Mercedes' hips as she adjusted one end of the dildo inside herself and gave the other end--the one meant for him, his sex-hazed mind whispered--an experimental stroke. Unconsciously, he mirrored the action, and if his cock hadn't been hard before, it definitely was now.

From the same box, Mercedes also produced a jar of oil, generous in size. Sylvain was more used to discreet little vials, so he couldn't help a huff of laughter.

"Got something cooking for me?" he asked with a wink.

Mercedes only smiled serenely in return.

"It pays to be prepared," she said.

It sounded like a promise, and Sylvain was lost for words again in the face of Mercedes taking everything in stride like this. She placed the jar of oil on the bedside table, and then turned to give Sylvain an assessing little once-over. Sylvain, never one to miss an opportunity to show off, posed lasciviously against the pillows.

"How would you like to do this?" she asked.

"Uh..." Well, he hadn't considered getting even this far. "Whatever works for you."

Mercedes reached out, brushing fingers through Sylvain's hair.

"It's fine if you don't know what you like yet," she said. "We can try out some things and see what you prefer. Would you like to be on your knees, or your back?"

A hot shiver shot down Sylvain's spine at the question.

"I..." He tried to gather his scattered wits enough for a reply, "I wanna look at you." Flailing to look casual, he grinned and looked her up and down. "Would be a shame not to enjoy such a pretty sight, don't you think?"

Mercedes hummed in acquiescence, but let the clumsy come-on pass unremarked.

Instead she said "Scoot over," and gestured for Sylvain to move over, climbing onto the mattress and shuffling over on her knees. The movement made the toy bob up and down, and Sylvain scuttled back just from how flustered he felt by the sight. He wondered, if he reached out for it, whether the wood of the dildo would feel warm under his palms. Certainly it would feel smooth, and now he couldn't help but picture what that smoothness would feel like inside him.

If Mercedes saw him stare, she made no indication, instead busying herself with rearranging the pillows. She patted for him to lie down, and he obeyed, feeling himself chuckle for no reason at the pillow propping up his hips. He might have played it off, if his nervousness hadn't completely scattered his brains, or if Mercedes' steady presence wasn't so reassuring. She'd yet to act like he had done anything odd, even though he was certain he'd been on edge since the bedroom activities had shifted from regular fare to...

He spread his legs wide, letting Mercedes kneel between them with the jar of oil in her hands.

When she popped the lid off, the sound was not loud, but Sylvain found himself startled by the reality of it. 

"Would you like to loosen yourself up, or shall I?" she asked, her eyes half-lidded, her smile gentle.

And Sylvain-- Sylvain understood what she was asking. It's wasn't like he hadn't fingered himself before, but he felt uncharacteristically shy about Mercedes doing that part, afraid he would tense up on her and she would get the wrong impression.

"Yeah, I can do that part," he said, extending his hand.

She poured oil for him--a bit more abundantly than he would have used, but better more of it than not enough--and he sat back, squirming in place. He didn't usually have an audience for this part, but now that he did he couldn't deny the appeal. Mercedes' attention on him, avid in its quiet way, made his skin tingle.

Her hands were warm as they settled on his legs, one of her thumbs stroking idly against the inside of his knee.

He started with one finger, pushing it inside more businesslike than anything. 

"Go slow," Mercedes requested-- or indicated-- or--

It was hard to think about what her tone meant, when her eyes were dark and they settled on him like that. So he let go of thinking as he worked himself over. Slowly, in and out. He breathed evenly, in time with the rise and fall of Mercedes' own chest. His cock was hard, but lay untouched against his belly; his other hand was tangled in the bedsheet.

"You're doing well," Mercedes said, and Sylvain felt himself shudder, his rhythm pick up unconsciously, his back arch--

Then Mercedes' hand came to rest on his chest, pushing him back down against the bed, and Sylvain settled under her touch, slowed down again.

"So well," she murmured again. One of her hands was still sliding across his chest, coming to circle a nipple, while the other kept a steady grip on his knee, as though to keep him spread open. He found himself liking that thought, rolling it over in his head the way people would roll hard candy over their tongue: Mercedes spreading him wide. Splitting him open on her wooden cock--

"I need--" Sylvain panted, not sure why he was asking permission for this, "--another finger."

"If you can take it," Mercedes acquiesced.

"Yeah." Sylvain laughed soundlessly, and added another finger. It was-- so much better that it was not enough. Mercedes dragged blunt fingernails along the inside of his thigh, and he almost added another finger right then and there, suddenly greedy for it.

But what he really wanted was for Mercedes to give, so he did as she said, and went slow, as slow as he could bear. Mercedes' touches were a warm, arrhythmic counterpoint to his own motions, startling unexpected sensations out of him. She tweaked a nipple, brushed her knuckles down his sides, curled her fingers into his flesh to hold him steady, all following some whim of hers that he couldn't predict. But it seemed that, more than his fingers, it was Mercedes' ministrations that stoked his arousal higher and higher.

"You've been so good," Mercedes said, smiling at him with more benevolence than any goddess. "Would you like another finger?"

"I want--" Sylvain's hand was beginning to cramp up. "I want-- I want to--"

He made a frustrated sound, needy and embarrassing, but Mercedes seemed to understand, especially when Sylvain fell back to the pillows and let his fingers slip out completely.

"Alright, if you're ready." She patted his knee kindly, before popping off the lid on the jar of oil again.

Sylvain watched, entranced, as Mercedes poured out the oil, stroking it up and down the length of the toy. The wood, already smooth, now glistened in the lamplight. 

She tilted her head at him, considering, and then reached out and stroked Sylvain's cock as well, a single smooth motion of her palm sliding with oil up and down its length. Sylvain's head fell backwards, and her threw a forearm over his eyes, measuring out his breaths deliberately and trying not to pop off right then and there, before the main event even started.

He nearly flinched when her felt the cool head of the toy press against him, but Mercedes' hand, so warm in contrast, alighted on the inside of his thigh.

"Are you feeling alright?" Mercedes asked, and she might well have been giving a check-up at the infirmary for how professional and friendly she sounded.

"Yeah, I'm-- doing great, just--" Sylvain made a gesture with his hand that was more helpless than illustrative, but Mercedes got the message.

In one sinuous move, she pushed inside him, and Sylvain gasped. It was thicker than his fingers, had less give to it, but as strange as the sensation was, he didn't want it to stop. The burn of the stretch was soothed by the coolness of the oil for a moment, and then Mercedes pushed fractionally deeper.

"Tell me if I'm going too fast, okay?" Mercedes said sweetly.

"You can go faster," Sylvain wheezed out.

"Now, now, don't rush me. We should do this properly, don't you think?" To belie her own words, though, Mercedes inched in just the slightest bit more. "You're always in such a hurry! Let me take good care of you."

Sylvain groaned from somewhere deep in his chest, frustrated or overstimulated, and he didn't know which. Mercedes drove in slowly, stopping to let him get used to the feel of it after each aching inch, but then she gave a shallow thrust, and suddenly, Sylvain didn't know what to do with himself. His hands fisted in the bedsheets, and Mercedes whispered soothing nonsense to him, her touch leaving smears of oil like cool kisses against his skin.

"I've got you," she promised, and Sylvain felt her drag jolts of pleasure out of him with every forward movement of her hips. Deceptively small motions, restrained and careful, and each one stoking a fire inside him, building it higher, swallowing up any ache and replacing it with a heady warmth.

"Merce-- Mercedes," he sobbed out, as she kept him on a maddeningly even keel, neither going in deeper nor picking up speed. "Please--"

"Of course," she said, ever obliging.

Her hands on the backs of his thigh pressed his legs up, opening him wider, and this time she went deeper, hit a spot that made Sylvain's entire vision white out for a second and his mind reel incoherently-- _too much, too much, more!_ He had a breath's reprieve before she hit that spot again, and then Sylvain's entire perception was reduced to the then and there: the slide in, the too-brief moment of bliss his body couldn't even process, the retracting tide of sensation before he was subsumed again.

He was dragged under by the swell and ebb of pleasure, every gibbering thought he could produce some variation on 'please' and 'more'. It could have been a single moment melting into hours, but he found himself suspended in it for long enough that the tension was unbearable. 

"Mercedes, I need--" His voice was hoarse, surprisingly so even to his own ears. But, "I need to come. Please, Mercedes, I need to-- Can I--"

"Shh, of course you can," Mercedes replied. "Didn't I say I've got you?"

Her hand wrapped around him, and her hips drove into him--down and in, up and out--and it only took a few seconds before Sylvain came harder than he ever had in his life. Mercedes worked him through every wave of his orgasm until the last hot, dry spurt left him wrung out and overstimulated.

Mercedes eased herself out as gently as possible, and rearranged his limbs more comfortably before she lied down next to him, her breathing labored.

"Was it everything you imagined?" she asked, kissing his temple.

Sylvain felt himself wheeze out a laugh. He felt scoured clean, like she'd cracked his chest open and scraped out his insides. That was definitely not anything like he imagined.

"Better," he said. "You've been holding out on me."

"I wouldn't say that," Mercedes giggled. "But I'm glad you had fun."


End file.
